A Wickedly Pleasurable Wager. Carole Mortimer

view of anyone who cared to glance their way. A clear indication it was time he put an end to this exchange. “I believe it advisable if we…finish this conversation later on today in private.”

      A frown marred the creamy perfection of her brow. “Tell me, Mr Wilson, what would be the benefit to you by entering into such a wager?”

      He looked down at her with those heavily lidded—and completely unreadable!—grey eyes. “Have you never looked at yourself in a mirror, Miss Faraday?”

      Her eyes widened. “Are you stating your attraction to me…?”

      That attraction was as much of a shock to Bastian as it obviously was to Trudie Faraday. An attraction which he had tried his damndest to ignore as he deliberately flirted with other ladies of the ton and demimonde. Flirtations which had not gone as far as the bedchamber due to a distinct lack of enthusiasm on Bastian’s part. Learning that Trudie was to be a guest at Westbourne’s summer house party, Bastian had decided that making love to Trudie Faraday should put an end to this torture once and for all.

      His mouth twisted self-derisively. “Perhaps I only seek relief from the tedium of a week-long house party?”

      His quarry shot him an impatient glance from those fiery blue eyes. “I fail to see why you bothered coming here when it is obviously all so boring to you.”

      He raised mocking brows. “Perhaps, since my return to England, I have become as bewitched by your beauty and charm as all the other single gentlemen of the ton appear to be?” Bastian drawled ruefully.